


Khan Sends His Regards

by countessrivers



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 10:22:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countessrivers/pseuds/countessrivers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock had been wary of the negotiations from the start</p>
            </blockquote>





	Khan Sends His Regards

**Author's Note:**

> So I went to see Star Trek (for the third time), while still recovering from The Red Wedding.
> 
> This is what happened.
> 
> I hate myself a little.

Spock had been wary of the negotiations from the start. Even two years on from the altercation with Admiral Marcus and Khan, war with the Klingons still appeared imminent, while the ongoing issues with the Romulan Empire were certainly not helping matters. As a result, the Federation had turned its focus towards establishing alliances with, as yet, unencountered peoples, with the promise of aid and resources in the event of war.

For this reason the Enterprise had been sent to negotiate with the Elasians. Although their population was small, the planet the Elasians inhabited was rich with Dilithium deposits and perhaps more importantly, it was located close to the Federation-Klingon Neutral Zone.

A meeting was to take place between Captain Kirk, the Federation’s designated representative, and their leader Kryton. Spock accompanied the Captain, as did a small Security contingent and Lieutenant Uhura, because although the Elasians spoke passable Terran, a Communications officer, particularly one as talented as her, was necessary.

Before the negotiations were to start, the two parties met in the stronghold’s great hall for a ceremonial dinner. Although the majority of the security officers remained outside, the Captain was seated on the first table, just below Kryton’s high chair, with Spock almost directly opposite and Lieutenant Uhura two seats down. For much of the dinner, which was composed of a combination of native and Terran dishes, conversation was amiable, if muted, and the group of musicians Kryton had provided entertained the guests.

Spock’s dinner companion is a tall, dark-haired man with olive skin. He dressed like the Elasians but in looks he was closer to a human and was familiar in a way Spock could not place. He appeared friendly enough, but the looks he continued to share with Kryton throughout the night worried Spock.

As the night wore on, and many toasts were made to this new friendship and the bounties it was sure to bring, Spock could not dismiss the feeling that something was amiss. He had pulled the Captain aside before the dinner had begun and shared his reservations.

“I know what you’re getting at Spock,” Jim had replied. “Kryton’s slimy as hell and I don’t like the looks I keep getting from his men, but we have our orders, and if Starfleet thinks this place is important enough to send their flagship then I’ll be damned if I let them down. Besides,” he grinned. “Uhura’s sure to smooth over any cultural faux pas I may make.”

“I certainly would not wish for a repeat of the incident on Vesta VII.”

“That was totally not my fault. Blame Bones, he’s the one who made the comment. I was just the one who got punched first. If anything, I was the victim.” Jim had placed a hand on Spock’s shoulder, his look turning serious again. “Just…keep an eye out. Everything should go smoothly,” his hand squeezed, and Spock was unfortunately reminded of Christopher and the last time the Captain had touched him in a similar manner. “I’d just rather be safe than sorry.”

Jim was now standing with one of Kryton’s sons, while Nyota was still at the table. Out of the corner of his eye Spock noticed the arm of the man next to him resting on the table. There is a flash of something bright, and Spock reaches out to push back the fabric of the man’s sleeve. Underneath is a metal vambrace, and looking at the man’s figure again, Spock would not be surprised is he was wearing more under his clothing. They were allowed no weapons or communicators inside the hall. Even the security officers were required to leave their phasers outside. The man smirks at Spock, and he knows something is very wrong.

Even as Spock rises to his feet, Kryton stands and lifts up his glass. “To new allies,” he says, and the hall is filled with loud cheers. Kryton signals to the musicians, who begin a new piece. It is not one he recognises, but it fills Spock with unease. Kryton is calling for gifts to be presented to the visiting diplomats, and Spock is temporarily distracted enough that he almost misses the sight of Kryton’s men shutting and barring the doors.

He turns to seek out Jim. “Captain,” he calls, but it is too late. It was either the music or Kryton’s words that acted as a signal, but an Elasian has already approached Nyota and before anyone can move, he is reaching over her shoulder and plunging a knife into her stomach. The rest of Kryton’s men move forward and the musicians pull out their hidden weapons and open fire.

Spock ducks away from one Elasian as he slashes at him with a knife, coming back up around to catch the man’s wrist and break it.

_You can’t even break a rule. How could you be expected to break bone?_

He can hear the cries of the officers as they are gunned down, can see Nyota as she falls to her knees, clutching her middle in an desperate effort to stem the blood flow, even as the man that wounded her leaps forward again. As he fights off another, attempting to move towards her, he can hear blasts outside the hall as Kryton’s men attack the rest of their party. He cannot see Jim.

One of the blasts the musicians had been firing towards the Starfleet officers goes wide and strikes Spock in the right leg. The leg gives out, and he finds himself on his knees. Pressing a hand to the wound, Spock looks around and sees Lieutenant Michael lying not far from him. He does not bother moving any closer. Michael’s head is still attached to his neck by only a small strip of skin. Lieutenant Commander Howard has fared little better, and even as he shoots one Elasian with a commandeered weapon, four more fire at Lieutenant Noh.

It makes no sense. Even has he looks around, tendrils of desperation taking root, Spock cannot find the logic of the attack. What possible reason could they have for massacring, and it is indeed a massacre, a diplomatic Starfleet party, one that includes the Captain and First Officer of its flagship? What possible benefits could they gain that would be worth the Federation’s inevitable retaliation? And who, Spock thinks, would be the one providing them?

Finally, Spock’s eyes find Jim, and for a moment he wishes they had not. Jim is kneeling by Nyota, his fingers at her neck, checking for what Spock already knows, but is unwilling to admit. Humans cannot survive that much blood loss. Jim appears no better. Burns and cuts litter his chest and arms, and what is left of his dress uniform is more red than gold. There is a small blade lodged in his thigh, no doubt piercing an artery. Jim may still be moving, but he will not last long without medical attention. Spock is startled by a nearby whimper. Hiding underneath the closest table is Kryton’s wife, and in that moment, Spock knows exactly what must be done.

He pulls himself to his feet, carefully placing his weight on his good leg and grabbing a large knife from the table. Sharp, Spock thinks absently, very sharp. He reaches down and pulls Kryton’s moaning wife from her shelter, spinning her around so her back is against his chest and the knife is at her throat.

By now the hall has gone quiet, and Kryton and his men have turned their attention to Jim, watching as he strokes his thumb across Nyota’s cheek and struggles to pull in breath.

“Kryton,” Spock says as he steps forward. “Let it end now. Let us leave, with the bodies of those you have slain and I swear, we will not seek out vengeance. There will be no reprisals if you just let us leave now.”

Vulcans do not lie. But Spock is also human, and oath or not, he will hunt down every last man in this room. There is an anger swelling inside him, an anger he has not felt since Nero. Since he watch Jim die, trapped behind glass with no way to reach him. There is no enhanced blood to save him this time, but Spock will not, cannot, stand by and watch it happen again. Giving into the anger is better than giving into hopelessness.

“I do not think so, Commander Spock,” Kryton replies, seated in his high chair, at ease as he surveys the blood-soaked room.

“Then keep me as a hostage. As the First Officer of the Enterprise and the son of the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth I am of use to you. Just let Captain Kirk leave.”

Kryton makes no comment and none of his men move, so Spock turns towards where Jim is still kneeling, careful to keep his grip on Kryton’s wife firm and the knife steady.

“Captain,” he says. “Get up and walk out.” Jim makes no move, except to pull his blood stained hands from Nyota’s body.

“Jim, please. Go now. Just get up and go.” Spock is begging, but cannot bring himself to care. If it would get Jim out of here alive then he would weep openly before the Vulcan Council itself.

“Now why would I let you go?” Kryton asks.

Turning back, Spock adjusts his grip on the knife and presses it harder against the whimpering woman’s neck.

“Because if you do not,” he says. “I swear that I will cut your wife’s throat and you can watch her bleed out on this very floor.”

For a moment Kryton says nothing, and Spock can finally hear Jim struggling to his feet. He does not turn around, afraid his resolve will falter, but instead remains focused on Kryton.

“I’ll simply find another.”

“Spock.”

Spock shuts his eyes briefly, inhaling as he turns. The scent of iron and death and fear hangs in the air. Jim is standing on shaking legs, blood dripping down his fingers. He looks as he did in the radioactive chamber, afraid, but it is worse because this time he knows his death will not save the crew. There are four bodies in the hall and more outside, all of whom Jim could not save. Spock understands the feeling.

“Spock,” he says again.

“Please Jim,” he whispers, though he knows it is pointless. Even if permitted, Jim would never have left without him. He couldn’t leave Spock in that volcano, and he wouldn’t leave him now.

_Because you are my friend._

Friend, brother…Spock did not dare think of the rest. Not here. Not now.

A sad, empty smile finds its way onto Jim’s face, and even when the man who had sat by Spock all night moved between them, he does not look away. The man whispers something in Jim’s ear that Spock cannot hear. Jim makes no move to push him away, and indeed makes no move as the knife finds its place in his chest.

As Jim falls to the ground, Spock sees his mother, and no matter how far he reaches out, she still falls away from him, the ground vanishing beneath her feet. Spock too feels as if the ground has vanished, but here he is not reaching out. Instead, with his vision blurring and the roaring in his ears almost deafening, Spock jerks his arm and lets the limp body of Kryton’s wife drop to the floor.

His arms fall to his side, red dripping onto the floor and mixing with the green of his own blood. His face is damp, although with whether it is with sweat, blood or tears he does not know.

‘Let it end,’ Spock thinks. ‘Just let it end.’

He does not notice the man’s approach until there is a hand in his hair, pulling his head back, and a sharp, burning pain across his neck.


End file.
